The Nostalgia of the Stretched Band

A coiled spring lies there, its fury subdued,
a rubber ring, orphaned from its hold.
It recalls the line, both straight and curved,
the silent tension, the ancient promise.

In its inert peace, almost a sigh,
it lives again the tremor of a last snap,
when it bound papers, an ephemeral turn,
a brief bond, a secret pact.